


A Bit Of Blood On Your Cheek

by akingdomofunicorns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingdomofunicorns/pseuds/akingdomofunicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrcella Baratheon is the kind of girl that wears leather pants and jackets and combat boots —only if she's not wearing Prada and D&G, of course. She's the kind of princess that can throw a knife from the other side of the shool hallway and leave you blind —and she'll flirt with you while doing so. She's also the kind of perfect, golden girl that leads a normal high school life: she plays field hockey with Arya Stark, is in the cheerleading team with Sansa Stark, gets straight A's in all her classes and still has time to bake cupcakes with Margaery Tyrell, slay monsters when they decide to attack her hometown and make out with Robb Stark while drenched in blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bow down to V, who beated this whole thing and made it coherent. We make an awesome team.

**or**

**“Don’t You Dare”**

That morning Myrcella woke up to the sound of her Father singing “ _You shook me all night long”_ in the shower. That was new, he was more of a Take That mixed with Panic!at the Disco and Celine Dion kind of man —he hadn’t listened to AC/DC ever since her Uncle Renly had told him that leopard leather pants made him look fat and were _de modé_. She knew he was mad and it made her cringe because when her father was mad, awful things like burnt pancakes and peanut butter sandwiches happened. She hated peanut butter, it made her gag and it gave her bad breath.

School wouldn’t start for another two hours and she could feel her muscles burning from the yesterday’s activities. She had time for a warm shower and an full breakfast and maybe even the episode of _Emma Approved_ she hadn’t had time to watch yet. She liked that aspect of her life, the ‘live like a normal teenager who has the need to be as perfect as she can be’ part. Of course it was mixed with the ‘if my teachers knew of this they would be calling child services before Mother could scream bloody murder’ part.

The hot water relaxed her enough, but she still felt stiff and slightly tired. Myrcella put on her school uniform and brushed her blonde hair into a side braid, her curls all twisted and tied with pink ribbon. It went well with her white shirt and her pleated blue and white skirt. She hated the uniform like every other teenage girl, and what she hated the most were the white stockings and the dressy shoes. (Okay, she liked the effect it had on boys well enough and how it made her feel sexy when she could get the skirt to sit high on her waist and short on her thighs, but that was beyond the point).

“Breakfast’s ready,” Tommen told her sticking his head through the door. “Miss Eglie’s made pancakes and waffles. She even made hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon.”

“Coming. Tell Miss Eglantine she’s a sweetheart.”

She followed Tommen outside her room and into the dining room, where her mother was already eating small bites of Miss Eglie’s special apple pie.

“Morning, Mama.”

She smiled.

“Morning children, Cersei. Where’s your brother?” asked her father from behind them.

“Morning, Dad. Joffrey’s still getting ready,” Tommen replied.

Her father was the biggest man she’d ever met, aside from those Clegane brothers. He was built like a bull, with muscles that could make a grown man piss himself in fear, and his voice was loud and boisterous, perfect for battle, for war. She liked his tanned skin and his dark hair, always messy and too long for her mother’s taste, and most of all she liked his blue, laughing eyes, which Tomm had inherited.

“Bah. Boy’s lazy to his bones, if you ask me. What’s in store for my golden girl tonight?”

“Sansa’s birthday is in a few days so the girls and I are buying her something after practice.”

Joff chose that moment to appear. He took after Uncle Jaime, their mother’s twin brother. He was muscular but lithe, not sturdy like their father and Tommen, with full, pouty lips and emerald green eyes. Joff tended to be a nasty brother, but he had beaten Leyton Smythe to a bloody pulp when the bastard had tried to hurt her and he had taught Tomm how to throw punches at those assholes that bullied him in middle school, so he was nice enough and he watched out for them when their parents were too busy running their business and doing the _other_ stuff.

“Slow down, Tommen,” their mother told her brother when she saw her youngest inhaling his breakfast.

Their father had sat down at the head of the table and was eating in silence, ignoring all of them in order to read the paper.

“Everything all right, dear?”

Her father scowled.

“Ned called this morning. It’s in the paper.” he told her, showing her the article, “A seven year old boy has gone missing. Ned and I are busy with that Bloody Mary that’s killing people in Boston and you and your brother are taking care of the vampire case in Philly with Dayne and Tyrion, aren’t you?”

She nodded.                                  

“I’d like to know who the idiot is that strikes in a town as small as this. There’s nothing interesting about Westwood.”

She wanted to point out to her brother that Westwood, Norwood and Cohasset were the places where most of the country’s hunters had decided to stay but Joffrey never listened to her. It was close enough to Plymouth, where their Headquarters and Library were. The Martells had situated themselves in Florida, but that was because they wanted to control the south-east. Anyway, they had the Sand Snakes all over the country getting rid of whatever needed dealt with. Trystane Martell, who just happened to be her ex-boyfriend, and his brother Quentyn were living in Rhode Island, which was a blast because Trys knew where to get the best weapons. Until recently the Targaryens had controled most of the country. Too bad Aerys had been possesed and had burnt him and his wife. His heir, Rhaegar, had been slayed by one of his own experiments, killing one of his students, Lyanna Stark, with him (not to mention the scandal in which he had been involved in with said student, a married man with two children having an affair with a seventeen year old girl resulting in her pregnancy). Aerys’s last two chldren had been raised by Rhaegar’s ex-wife, Elia Martell, alongside her children. It was a well known tale around all the families in the business, a cautionary tale, and one both her parents liked to tell (her father because he had loved Lyanna, her mother because she had loved Rhaegar).

“Tomm and I can take care of it, if you’d like, Papa.”

He seemed to think about it while he spread some butter on a heart-shaped pancake.

“As long as you’re careful and you ask for help if you need it, I see no trouble. But ask your mother first.”

“Mama?”

“Go ahead, do your thing and squash them.”

* * *

When she got to school Arya Stark was waiting by her locker with her shirt all wrinkled and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She was a slim girl, short and petite like a pixie, with dark brown hair that went to the middle of her back and grey eyes. Her face was long, her eyebrows thick and her teeth pearly white and straight. Arya had worn braces at the same time as Myrcella in middle school and the both of them had complained about it everyday for two years.

“You and I are skipping practice tomorrow afternoon to buy our own present for Sansa. Marg is coming with us too.”

“Mrs. Mordane won’t be too happy about that.”

“Who cares? Besides, my father’s given me a permision slip.”

“Really?”

“Kind of,” she said, and then added, “Not really, but Bran’s a master at forging our parents’ signatures, so I’ll be fine. Get one from your dad and we’ll be good to go.”

Myrcella smiled.

“You’re terrible Arya. Terribly awesome.”

They walked to their first class together, where her cousin Shireen joined them. Shireen was a sweet girl, the sweetest she had ever met, in truth; she was also very shy. She’d been in an accident when she was a young girl that had scarred her face, her neck and part of her shoulder and it made people unconfortable to be near her. She was an only child too, the daughter of a pious woman (fanatic, more likely) and a father with zero social skills that could not show love to save his life.

Myrcella had grown up with her and she could still remember visiting her at the hospital after her accident; she’d been five, Shireen six, and she was used to her cousin’s smooth skin and lovely eyes. But all she’d seen was Shireen’s face wrapped up in bandages and she had screamed and screamed and screamed (she’d seen mummies before, possessed people who had wasted into nothing and then had inhabited an already dead body, her father had told her, and surely Shireen, _her Shireen_ , wasn’t dead, was she?) and cried until her Papa had dragged her away to explain to her that her cousin was all right, just hurt.

She’d hurt Shireen’s feelings that day, and made her cry, too, but she had later apologised and had stayed with her in bed a whole afternoon eating chocolate cake and watching Cartoon Network, so it was all right in the end. Shireen was the closest thing she had to a sister.

“Tommen’s told me about the seven year old, is there anything I can do to help? I haven’t had an assignment in so long I feel I’m going crazy.”

Myrcella could see Jeyne Poole approaching them and whispered, “I’ll call you after class, Poole is coming our way.” Then she smiled and raised her voice to her normal tone, “Just wear your yellow dress, Shireen, Sansa’s party is nothing fancy, right Jeyne? And let me remind you that you have an Advanced Algebra class to get to, so go before you’re late. How can we help you, Jeyne?”

Shireen kissed her on the cheek and left them at the door of the younger girls’ English class.

Jeyne was a senior, Sansa’s best friend and quite annoying, if you asked Myrcella. But Jeyne was a good friend and so Myrcella smiled at her genuinly and waited for her answer.

“I’ve found the perfect present for Sansa and I’ll see you at the Mall at five, right?” Jeyne asked.

They nodded and it wasn’t long before Jeyne was on her way and Mr. Pycelle was entering the room. Arya started making faces over her book and Myrcella had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. 

* * *

Tommen and Shireen were waiting for her in the basement, surrounded by books and computers and weird tools and spices they used for their magic. That was the secret, her Uncle Tyrion always told her, the spices; the original hunters had been from India and Palestine and they had mastered all the secrets of slaying monsters. They had brought those secrets with them to England, France and Spain, where a new generation of hunters had learned about them. The long exposure to magic had made them stronger, more powerful and it had taken root in their bodies. Of the Originals, only the Martells remained, for they had stayed in India longer than the rest. But there was little of the original blood in their veins so it didn’t actually make them more powerful (no matter what they’d have you believe).

There used to be powerful hunters in America before it was colonised, but the Natives had been butchered soon after the Europeans had arrived and almost all their knowledge had been lost. Countless damage had been born from it, for there were mysteries not even the Originals had known about.

“The boy’s body has been found, but another boy disappeared three hours ago.”

“The body?”

Shireen closed the book she’d been reading and stretched her arms over her head, “No eyes, no tongue, no heart, no brain.”

“And?”

“Well, they’re all powerful organs and muscles used in different rituals, but we’re still reading. Feel free to join us,” Tomm said, looking pointedly at the pile of books.

“I hate you.”

They both rolled their eyes at her and she sat on the floor and picked up a book covered in dust and something green and digusting. She read page after page of what she was pretty sure was an at least two thousand page long book until her head hurt and her eyes burned. They made it seem all fun and games in _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and _Supernatural_ (if you ignored the deaths and the pain and that special Kansas song that made people cry and the fact that her favourite vampire had to die at the end), but the truth was it took time, dedication and a large library to slay all those monsters. “Size _does_ matter, Cella.” her mother liked to say, “The larger the library, the easier the hunting gets sweetie.”

They hadn’t accomplished anything by the time Uncle Stannis came to pick Shireen up, and so it was decided that Shireen would look by herself in her father’s library while Cella and Tomm kept looking at home. Then the next day, Myrcella would pick Shireen up from her father’s office, and they would return to the task at hand.

Shireen pecked her cheek before leaving, earning an amused smile from Tommen. 

* * *

Her Father came home from the office at eight just to shower and bid them all goodbye; Boston had a bad case of Bloody Mary, which meant there was a sociopathic spirit running around people’s mirrors waiting to strike. He couldn’t stop the bitch from home so he had to travel to Boston with Ned Stark and spend the night there.

He kissed her on the forehead, clapped her brothers on the back and gave her mother a smacking kiss on the lips before taking his bag from the floor.

“Try not to cheat on me with Stark, okay? Sex would ruin your lovely bromance,” Cersei said with only a touch of venom.

Robert laughed and got on the car. Her parents were not perfect and they fought quite often, but they got on well enough most the time. Okay, some of the time. They had met when they were both in love with other people and they had hated each other at first (she knew the tale, Uncle Tyrion was fond of telling it when he had had a little too much wine): Cersei Lannister had been too uptight and had refused to sleep with Robert. Robert Baratheon had been a jerk and player. Cersei had taken great offense when he had hit on to her when his attentions were so obviously unrequired. Myrcella wasn’t sure how that situation had led them to date, but somehow her Uncle Renly and her Uncle Tyrion had convinced Robert to serenade her mother (and at this part of the tale she would always cover her face because imagining her _Papa_ serenading her mother was mortifying) and she had agreed to go on a date. Just one.

In the end it had been Grandmother Joanna who had convinced Cersei it would be a good idea to give the poor lad a chance; Joanna had also taught her Mother what a relationship meant and how to assure power and independence while being with a man. Nana Jo had taught her mother what it meant to be a Lannister woman and, in return, Cersei was teaching _her_ how to be a Lannister. To be honest, being a Baratheon was much easier. Being a Lannister took way too much effort.

Presently, her parents had lost most of the passionate love that had fueled their marriage and they had settled themselves in a companionship born of years spent together on the road, hunting and killing, practicing magic and probably having lots of sex. She liked to imagine them young and free, finding solace in each other, being amazing together. It was not that easy, she knew, both her parents had done and said terrible things to each other, but hunting together tended to create a bond that kept people together. Her parents were united by it still and it wasn’t hard for her to see that despite all the arguments and the disagreeing, their arguments were, in fact, a result of habit and comfort; as long as they kept arguing, their marriage would be all right, their lives would be as normal as they can get. But perhaps she was biased.

They were ushered inside once the car became a dot of white light and Miss Eglie, who lived with them, brought out mugs of hot chocolate. It was a bit early in the year for hot chocolate, but she had never been one to refuse anything sweet.

Her Papa was busy with a Bloody Mary, her Mama would be leaving for Philly to deal with a vampire the next day and she had to figure out who was kidnapping little boys in her hometown. How was she to concentrate in school with so much to do?

The only thing to do was to skip last period. Saving children trumped last period history. She’d need to remember to send Arya a text.

* * *

Trys called her while she was getting ready for bed.

“What are you wearing?”

“If this is your attempt at phone sex it leaves much to be desired, asshole. What do you want?”

“I’ve got new toys and I’ve put away some for you. When are you coming?”

Myrcella had to open her diary to answer him, “Gendry and I will be over in two days with the money. Save us a treat too, will you? You know I am one for flattery.”

Trys laughed on the other side of the line and she could hear him typing on his computer.

“And you know I live to flatter you. Don’t worry, I have something shiny for you. I am aware of how much you love shiny things, pretty princess,” he said and sighed. “Tell me something, sweetheart, why the hell aren’t we still together? We used to be so hot.”

“I loved how amazing we were together, but your love for that Fowler boy’s cock did put a hindrance in our relationship. The Bull and I will see you in two days, please be prepared to receive us. I love you, but I really don’t need to see you having sex with whoever you’re having sex with nowadays.”

“Oh, Cella, baby, you would love him…”

“Goodbye, Trys.”

She hung up on him and texted Gendry to let him know of the news. Gendry’s case was delicate within her family, a constant reminder of the eighteen months her father had spent brainwashed by some sorceress. It was an ugly tale, one her mother hated: they’d been married for some time, but they still didn’t have kids because Cersei had wanted to wait and focus on her career. They’d been working on trying to catch a ghost pirate that had been terrorising Cincinnati when suddenly Robert had disappeared. When Cersei and Ned finally found him, he was in Minnesota, living with another woman and with a newborn son in his arms. And what was even worse was that he had had no memory of ever having met anyone named Cersei Lannister. Turns out the woman he had been living with hadn’t been the sorceress, but the sorceress’ daughter who had had no idea of what was really going on.

Cersei had never forgiven the woman, even if the whole ordeal hadn’t been her fault, but she had agreed with Robert that Gendry and his mother needed to move to Westwood. Robert had wanted him to wear the name of Baratheon, but Myrcella’s mother put had her foot down when the issue came up—only his trueborn children would wear his surname, only the babies _she_ birthed would be named Baratheon. But the boy had hunter blood in him, so they had both agreed that he would grow up to be a hunter. He would have a place at their table (as long as Cersei didn’t have to see his mother in town too often).

Myrcella was fond of her half-brother, who looked so much like their father it was surreal. Uncle Jaime liked to say that he had her father’s strength, Uncle Stannis’ stubborness and Uncle Renly’s easy laugh. He was quiet and easy to talk to (and handsome, too; Arya blushed everytime she saw him without a shirt on), and the best partner with whom to visit Trys. He knew his toys, knew which ones would work best for her, which ones would make her deadlier. She liked being deadly, she liked feeling dangerous and she liked that Gendry could help her achieve that.

(Of course he always bought something for Arya when they went. And he’d blush just as hard as Arya when the younger girl kissed his cheek in thanks).

All in all, she was rather fond of her half-brother and his amazingness.

* * *

The red woman was sitting behind the counter, typing distractedly on her phone. Her hair was a mass of glossy burnished copper and burgundy waves, her lips painted with carmine lipstick and her cheeks flushed red. She wore a necklace with a ruby hanging on it and tiny, little diamonds surrounding it, and Myrcella could see the red dress she wore underneath her white robe.

“How may I help you, miss?”

“I’m just waiting for Dr. Baratheon’s daughter, Shireen.”

“She’ll be down in no time, her shift is almost over.”

The red woman —Melisandre, her nametag read—smiled and went back to her phone.

Uncle Stannis’ clinic was insipid and it had always frightened her when she was younger —he never smiled and he gritted his teeth often and loudly, as if controling himself not to go on a killing spree. Not to mention he was a dentist. There was nothing more frightening than a dentist waiting to torture you in his chair.

“Excuse me, miss, but would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? Water, perhaps?” Melisandre asked. She had a funny accent, from Eastern Europe, she thought, and she could smell her perfume. It made her dizzy, but she stood still and smiled at the woman politely.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

Miss Melisandre smiled and went back to her work. She was beautiful, in a dangerous way, her lips spelled lasciviousness and her eyes were filled with passion. If her uncle had been any other man but Stannis, Myrcella was sure the woman would have not been hired for her skills as a receptionist. But her uncle was indeed Stannis and Melisandre was surely a great professional and an astounding secretary or she wouldn’t be there.

Shireen appeared not long after, followed by her father, who nodded at her and entered a room. Myrcella was able to see someone was inside and cringed at the thought of metal tools poking round her gums.

“Hi, Cella. Have you been waiting long?”

“No, not at all. Let’s go. Good afternoon, Miss Melisandre.”

Melissandre bid them goodbye without taking her eyes off the computer screen and they got into Shireen’s car.

“What happened to Mr. Seaworth?” Myrcella asked, refering to Stannis’ former secretary.

“He got promoted,” Shireen said, stopping at a red light, “he passed his exams, so he’s now an assistant.”

“Good for him. I always liked him. Anything new about our assignment? Have you found anything that could help us?”

Shireen shook her head sadly.

 “If Tomm hasn’t found anything either, we’ll patrol the streets tonight.”

Tommen was waiting for them in the kitchen with three bowls of lucky charms and fresh orange juice.

“What a sweetheart, Tommy. We’re so lucky you love us so, aren’t we, _chérie_?” Myrcella sang, ruffling his hair just to see him scrunch up his nose in annoyance.

Shireen smiled at their antics and they settled themselves at the table. Tommen, it seemed, hadn’t found anything either, so it was decided that the girls would patrol the streets while he would stay at home doing more research.

“If we don’t find anything, we’ll have to ask for help,” Tommen said, “but maybe we’re reading into it wrong.”

“It’s the most obvious posibility, but we have literally no clues except the organs this bastard takes, and apparently that’s not enough. Make sure to hit the internet while we’re gone and call us if you find anything. Mama’ll be home soon, so I’m going take a shower.”

Tommen scrunched his nose.

“Two things, Cella: you smell gross and I’m not dumb, I know what to do.”

Myrcella ruffled his hair again and bounced upstairs to take a bath, leaving her brother and her cousin to do all the boring work, like she always ended up doing. They were used to it, she knew, and she really didn’t feel guilty anymore for doing it. Apparently this made her a bad person, according to Marg Tyrell. But Marg had once spilled hot sauce all over a girl’s dress in revenge, so she wasn’t really one to talk.

* * *

Shireen and Myrcella hit the streets once Myrcella’s mother had left town with her twin brother to catch a vampire in Philadelphia, while Tommen remained in their library, trying to find a clue, _anything_ , that could help them with their case.

Their hunter clothes consisted mostly of leather and spandex and they made her feel like a younger, blonder, more normal and less perfect version of Natasha Romanoff. But no one could top Black Widow, especially if she was played by Scarlett Johansson (it was no secret that she had a crush on her, specially in _Spoon_ , where she looked gorgeous and was hilarious and Woody Allen was so perfect too), so she didn’t really think much of it, except for the fact that it made her look lethal and sexy. They wore combat boots, high-waisted, leather pants and a plain spandex shirt with a leather jacket on top, full of silver buckles and places to hide weapons. All the tight fabric wasn’t really necessary, Arya always wore combat pants that made her deadlier than about anyone, but the rest prefered to look a little more feminine while covered in dirt and blood and gore (and Arya was the only one who could pull off the combat pants without looking like she had a boner half the time, the little, evil pixie).

“If you were… whatever it is we’re trying to catch, why would you abduct a child in the dead of night. Isn’t that just plain stupid? Why don’t abduct him at four in the afternoon, when the kid’s playing in the park while his teenage nanny is busy flirting with the guys playing football shirtless not two feet away from her? Why go to all the trouble of getting in the house and stealing the child from his bed?”

“I hate it when you’re the voice of reason. And I hate it when you’re smarter than me,” Myrcella said, punching her affectionately on the shoulder. “But I really don’t know. Maybe it’s a vampire?”

“What kind of vampire performs an autopsy on a human and leaves the blood untouched?”

“Carlisle Cullen?”

“Fuck you, Cella.”

“That’s incest and it’s a bit yucky, but I guess if we pretend we’re only third cousins or something I could get on board with it.”

Shireen was about to respond to that, but a sound behind some bushes stopped them in their tracks. They drew out their weapons and they prepared to defend themselves; she could feel Shireen’s back against her, her muscles tensed and ready. Shireen’s body was warm and familiar, like the dance they were about to perform —it was easy to trust her with her life, and it made sense too: Shireen was family and she would always trust her family, as messed up as it was.

A tabby cat rushed from the bush where it had been hiding but they still held their positions for a little longer, their hearts beating wildly in their chests. No matter how many years they kept doing this, nothing would prepare them for the rush, the fear of knowing their lives could end at any moment.

“Lets go, still a lot to cover.”

Shireen nodded and they kept going. School the next day would be terrible, but it wasn’t the first time they had to lose a couple of hours of sleep to get their jobs done.

The loud noise took them by surprise at around one in the morning, when they had decided to call it a night and go back home to get some rest.

Some trashcans nearby fell and crashed against the pavement, spilling rotten food and paper. It was so loud that a dog started barking madly in the distance. She saw Shireen reach for her weapons, but she was too slow, and something hit her cousin square in the chest. Shireen was lifted in the air and thrown back. She fell several feet away from where Cella was standing. Myrcella turned around, trying to see whatever it was that was attacking them, but there was nothing there. A pregnant silence fell around them as she waited, sword in hand, for something to happen.

Behind her, Shireen got up from the floor and reached for her knives.

“Do you see anything?” she asked, coming to stand several feet in front of her.

Myrcella shook her head, keeping an eye on her surroundings.

“Myrcella!” Shireen shouted. Her eyes were big and scared, blue like frozen ice.

She felt it tickle the hairs at the nape of her neck just in time for her to dodge and black smoke hit a postbox, melting it before their eyes. When she turned around, there was a shadow right where she had been. Shireen threw a knife at it, but it went right through it and it hit a tree. The shadow turned to her slowly and Myrcella took advantage of it to slash at it with her sword. It went right through it too, just like Shireen’s knives, but grey smoke poured out of the creature and it hissed in pain. She was about to try it again when out of nowhere a spear pierced the shadow.

A man came out of the shadows, wearing traditional hunting clothes and two swords crossed at his back. Myrcella scowled.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Gingerbread!” she shouted.

But the creature halted and turned around and seeing that it was out-numbered (though Myrcella was not sure if that was really an advantage to them, seeing as it was made of some weird kind of smoke that could not get pierced at all), disappeared in the night, leaving behind small droplets of black smoke and a faint smell of cabbage and water lilies.

“That’s not very nice, calling people names, don’t you think?”

“Spare me the lesson, Stark, you just scared Lindsay Lohan away.”

Shireen snorted at the analogy and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“What is wrong with you? I was just trying to help!”

Myrcella tilted her head (it was her best impersonation of her mother, all spiced up with an arched, perfectly sculpted eyebrow and a sour smile).

“Twitter alert, douchebag,” she stage-shouted to no one in particular, “tomorrow there’ll be a dead boy because Bobbie Stark thought it would be a good idea to molest the Shadow Thing.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Maybe. But I’m also trying to save some people here and you just fucked that up. God, how I miss my bed.”

She knew she sounded like a baby (a very cranky baby, but she was tired and pissed and the bastard’s handsome face wasn’t doing anything to calm her —not when all she could think about was the ridiculous crush she used to have on him when she was eight), but she also knew that Robb Stark’s interference had cost them the Shadow.

Oh, she knew who he was… of course she knew. Robb Stark, Sansa and Arya’s eldest brother, who was studying Anthropology or Engineering or something at the prestigious Brown University (or maybe he was studying Physics or Medicine or Comparative Literature… Who knew and who cared? Certainly not her) and who had barely looked at her when she was a child. Well, he had actually looked at her more than once, but it had been to ask her whether she prefered Maths or English and whether she would be trying out for the field hockey team, and it had all been because she was friends with his sisters. And now he didn’t even recognise her, which pissed her off to no end, because maybe she looked prettier and hotter than the last time he’d seen her (and she still couldn’t figure out how they hadn’t seen each other when his family lived fairly close to hers and she was always over, but whatever), but she still had the same blonde hair, the same nose, and the green eyes.

Robb Stark was an asshole: the most handsome asshole in the world, yes, but an asshole nonetheless. And she was cranky and hungry and mad.

_Oh, for the love of the sweet baby Jesus_ , she thought, _his eyes are still as blue as ever_.

“There’ll be no sleep for us tonight, Shireen, and we have Stark to thank. Shadow Zombie is ours; go find something else to kill.”

She was two inches away from stepping over the line, but Robb didn’t look angry, just amused.

(And handsome, but she was so not thinking about that.)

“It depends on who catches it first, princess.”

Shireen walked over to her and put a hand on her elbow. “We have to keep going, it could be anywhere.”

She smiled at her cousin, but turned towards Robb once more before following her.

“Is this a competition, Bobby?”

She could almost hear Arya’s voice in her head, telling her how much of a flirt she was, and it made her smile. Her hair was in disarray, her bangs falling into her face, strands sticking to her forehead. But she felt pretty and Robb Stark was smiling at her like he’d never done before, so she didn’t care that much about whether her hair was in her face or not.

“Maybe,” he grinned. “But how do we know who the winner is?”

She laughed.              

“Oh, we’ll see each other again, don’t worry.”

She was walking backwards now, slowly, to give him time to answer.

“And if I don’t recognise you? If I don’t remember?”

“Oh you’ll remember me,” Cella said wickedly, smiling at him like she’d seen Marg smile at countless other boys. “Just look for the girl in the pink dress.”

It was time to stop flirting. She blew him a kiss over her shoulder (she would regret that later, she knew, but the oportunity was right there and she had never been able to resist temptation) and took off towards Shireen, who had been waiting for her around the corner with her cheeks all flushed.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, come on, Shireen. Have you seen those eyes? It was impossible for me not to.”

“Please don’t get pregnant. Your dad would kill me.”

* * *

“If I take one more step my legs will fall off and I’ll die.”

“Shut your mouth, Myrcella.”

“I had it right there. Right there, Arya.”

Arya offered her a piece of gum and she took it with a scowl. They’d been sitting under the bleachers, skipping class, for the last half hour, doing nothing but stare at the ground and complain about everything (Myrcella about the Shadow and Arya’s brother messing it all up and Arya about Gendry being stupid, which she always complained about).

“At least it didn’t attack again.”

Arya was right, though, they had patrolled all night and there hadn’t been one single attack anywhere —no missing boys in the morning and no bodies found, so there was still hope for the second boy who’d disappeared. And now they were sure there was some paranormal shit going on.

She felt her phone vibrate where it was resting on top of her stomach.

“Is that Sansa? Because I think she knows there’ll be a party on Friday. We’ve told her we’re taking her to dinner, though, so I don’t know if-”

“Nope, just Tommen. And Trys is taking his brother to the party, by the way, is that okay?”

“Of course.”

Tommen’s message read, “SOS: Public Library”. She left Arya alone, probably still denying to herself that she had a crush on Gendry the size of Russia, and met Shireen in the parking lot.

Tommen was waiting for them on the steps of the public library, looking nervous and scared and instantly putting Myrcella on edge.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing that she wouldn’t like what he was going to tell her. She knew that face he was making, it meant that shit was going to go down.

“I found something. Something big. Come on.”

He led them inside the library through the back door and then towards a small, dark corner between three shelves of books on theology, where the three of them made themselves comfortable on the floor.

“I called Grandfather, to ask him for help, and he told me to search for the Lord of Light. And I’ve found it. I think.”

Tommen picked up a book from one of the shelves and flipped open the pages.

“Are you saying that the Holy Spirit did it?” asked Myrcella, confused.

“What? No! R’hllor!”

“Bless you,” Shirren said, worried by her cousin’s state.

Tommen sighed.

“No, listen to me. R’hllor is the Lord of Light, a god. He is the central point of a whole religion and he is the reason why someone is birthing shadows.”

“Birthing shadows?” was Shireen’s incredulous response.

“Yes.”

“You mean to tell us,” Myrcella started, “that _that thing_ was someone’s baby? Because it didn’t look like a baby to me. At all.”

Tommen snapped his fingers, annoyed.

“They’re called Shadow Assassins and they’re born of a Red Priestess, that’s what I’ve read. No one knows exactly what the magic used to conceive them is, but the Priestess takes the fire-life from a man and then she births him a shadow, an assassin. It’s a strange, complicated religion that makes little sense, like every other religion, if you ask me. And I don’t know if that god is real or not, but the magic… they know things, these Priests and Pristesses. And they can invoke things… According to the books I’ve read, there are worse things than the Shadows and that’s why the boys are needed.”

Myrcella could feel the bile rising in her throat and she had to swallow to keep from throwing up. Tommen looked pale and green as he talked, but he didn’t faltered.

“Please tell me this Red Priestess is not using the boys to get pregnant of these shadows,” Shireen said, as disgusted as they all felt by the notion.

“No, I don’t think so. No, she wants the boys for something else —something darker, more ambicous… She’ll use those organs to summon R’hllor so he can descend down to Earth and condemn the sinners for their vices and crimes.”

“Great. Fucking amazing. I can take vampires and witches and Bloody Marys and anything else, really. Hell, even some werewolves! But how am I supposed to fight against some god’s offspring?”

“With magic,” Tommen answered redundantly.

 “You know magic. You both know magic. In fact,” she added, looking at both her brother and her cousin at the same time, “we all know magic.”

“We do,” Shireen agreed.

“Is it really advanced magic? Because you know I’m terrible at advanced magic,” Cella pointed out.

“Don’t worry, Shireen and I will take care of it, Cella —you just need to have your weapons ready. We get rid of the Shadow… and then we get rid of the red witch.”

* * *

Gendry picked her up after practice, like they had agreed on the day before. He was tall and thick of muscle, like their father, with blue eyes and dark, unruly hair. In fact, according to the old pictures at home, he was exactly like Robert Baratheon had been many years ago. But he was a quiet boy too, quiet and smart and sensible and responsible —he had never gotten into trouble for drinking or partying too much, he wanted a good life and he was working for it. He worked at Tohbo Mott’s, a mechanical shop, taking care of the costumers, keeping everything in order and even helping with some of the cars, and he had been there ever since he turned fourteen.

“It helps me focus,” he had told her when she’d asked him why he worked in such a greasy place, “and it keeps me out of trouble. Besides, I like it.”

He was also getting a degree in Humanistics and he was doing well. Myrcella admired him, she looked up to him in those things Joff wasn’t such a good example, and she loved him. It was strange, because she didn’t really think of him as her brother, not even her half-brother, if she had to tell the truth, but Gendry had always been there for her: to get her through the first weeks of high school, to teach her how to stand up to bullies, to take her mind off the stuff she loved but that ended up stressing her out (school and monsters and cheerleading practice and field hockey and boys. It was no wonder she felt as if the day should be twice as long as it already was). He was more like a cousin, a good friend, perhaps, but not a brother, and they were both fine with it.

“Are you coming to Sansa’s birthday party?”

“Can’t. I’m taking my mother to Maine. Maybe I’ll send her some flowers? I don’t know… Sansa and I aren’t even friends.”

Myrcella shrugged.

“Pity. It would have been fun. Especially for Arya; now she’ll just be bored out of her mind and she’ll probably cause some trouble.”

Gendry winked at her and turned left. The trip to Rhode Island felt short (it always did). Myrcella liked to talk. She could talk for hours without having to stop, something that had been encouraged from a young age. Shireen was quiet and calm and Arya was always too busy running around to talk, so she could go on and on and on without anyone really trying to make her shut up. Like their cousin, Gendry tended to be quiet and he was polite, so he never told her to shut up like Arya or her brothers did. She loved him for that too, because it always made her feel awkward and annoying when people told her to shut up, even when they didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.

Quentyn and Trystane’s house was small and cozy, big enough for the two of them, the façade painted blue and the walls inside painted with golden yellows, warm browns and soft oranges to match the wooden floor. It had been their mother, Mrs. Norvos, who had taken care of the house and who had decorated it, everyone knew. Myrcella liked Mrs. Norvos, a woman that still retained some of the beauty of her youth and who had been very kind to her when she had been dating Trys. She had divorced Mr. Martell shortly after Trystane had been born and had reclaimed her maiden’s name, but Myrcella had never called her anything but Mrs. Norvos or ma’am.

“Please, tell me you have something that can cut through a shadow,” she asked Trys right after she had kissed him on the cheek.

The brothers looked at her strangely and Quentyn shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“We have a Shadow Baby situation back at home.”

“A _what_?”

She walked to the back of the house, where there was the door that lead to the basement, and descended to the boys’ _batcave_.

“A Shadow Assassin, of the faith of R’hllor. Some weird stuff is going on and I need something to cut through a shadow that was birthed by a Red Priestess. They’re like witches, according to Tommen, but crazier and scarier, too.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Quentyn said, “but I don’t have anything that could help you with this shadow.”

Trys turned to her, then.

“But we have silver chains to catch werewolves, some wildfire poppers, knives of dragonglass, a horn to attract zombies and this necklace of pearls with sleeping draught inside: you just have to throw one in someone’s drink and, baby, they’re strong enough to knock out a horse.”

“I’ll like the chain and the necklace.”

Quentyn nodded and went to get them.

“Take some knives, too, if they’re not too big,” Gendry advised her, looking at Trystane for confirmation.

“They’re small enough, yes. I’ll go get them.”

He made to leave, but Gendry stopped him.

“I’ll take a chain and the horn for Arya,” he told him and then turned to her, “you know how she loves to scare people with loud noises.”

They laughed at their tiny friend ( _Half-sister in law, if I can get them together for once and for all_ , she thought, grinning) while Trys went to get their stuff.

“You should come more often, maybe I can find you a boyfriend,” Trys said while he bend down to kiss her on the cheek when they parted.

“Or maybe _you_ could come, seeing as my parents refuse to buy me a car. And even if I had one, I’d probaby be too lazy to drive all the way here. But come visit me and maybe I’ll be the one to find _you_ a boyfriend.”

Trys hugged her and let go of her so she could give his brother a proper goodbye hug. Trys stopped her before she could get into the car. “Here,” he told her, giving her a pair of plain, golden bracelets, “I told you I had a treat for you. You throw them as you would throw a boomerang and they’ll cut through your enemies as if they were made of butter.”

“You know me so well, Trys,” she said, beaming at him.

 “I do my best.”

“Don’t be late on Friday or I’ll kill you, you hear me, asshole?” she called from Gendry’s car.

Trys winked at her and waved goodbye. When she turned to Gendry, he was smiling at her, his eyes all sparkly and blue and pretty.

“You seem very happy despite not having slept at all. Something happened?”

“I’ll tell you when you come back from Maine.”

* * *

Myrcella entered her basement afraid of what she would find. The smell was strong and thick and it lingered in every room of the house. She found Tommen and Shireen sitting behind a pair of test tubes full of a silver-grey liquid that looked like mercury.

“Am I supposed to drink this?”

“Nope,” was Tommen’s response. He could never hold a conversation when he was busy with his magic —it required all of his concentration and she loved watching him when he was so passionate about something; magic was her brother’s getaway from everything else.

“I drenched our clothes and weapons in this and it should let us hold onto the Shadow Baby,” Shireen supplied.

“Will it be enough?”

Shireen shrugged and handed her her weapons.

“We need to catch it tonight, it must be desperate for another boy.”

Just then her phone rang. She answered immediately when she saw it was Marg, worried that something was wrong with Sansa’s party.

“What’s up?”

“I heard you were working on the Westwood case.”

“I am. Who told you?”

“Arya. I’ve done some research for you and you’re not gonna like what I have to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“The second boy, Edric? They’ve found his body and a three year old has gone missing. He was with his nanny at the park. The nanny was found dead and the boy is gone.”

“Shit! All right, thanks, I gotta go,” she said and hung up. “Shireen, get ready, we’re going out right now. The second boy’s body has been found and another one’s gone missing already.”

Margaery sent her the details in a text and she cursed again. The child looked so young and innocent.

Shireen jumped from her seat and followed her to her room to change. Tommen stayed behind to finish the last touches to the potions. She had a bruise on her side from her brief fight against the Shadow Baby, so she put on a loose T-shirt and her favourite lycra pants with the padding on the knees. Shireen french-braided Myrcella’s hair into two pigtails and then she twisted her own dark locks into a messy bun. When they got downstairs, Tommen was waiting for them with their weapons ready. She scrunched her nose when she realised they stank and that the smell would linger on her clothes and her skin, but she put them on nonetheless. She added the golden bracelets Trys had given her, a sword across her back, some knives hidden up her sleeves and a long whip.

“We’re going.”

“Keep your phone with you,” Tommen reminded her. She could hear the worry in his voice so she took a second to kiss his cheek before she left. He scrunched his nose in distaste, but he did smile.

By the time they got to the park where the third boy was last seen the police was already there. They climbed a tree and waited in silence to listen to the cops as they talked.

“What have we got, Targaryen?” a redheaded police woman asked a policeman that was taking notes beside a car.

“The Lewis’ nanny was found dead by those trees and the babe was gone. A pair of girls found the body while they were walking their dogs. Hailey Carhold and Joy Hill are at the station with their parents and John and Vera Lewis are being escorted by officers Benitto and Yellowtooth. The nanny was Matilda Strauss, twenty-one, a college student and part-time nanny of the Lewis’ son, John Jr.”

“Nicely done, Targaryen.”

“It’s Stark, Jon Snow Stark.”

“Oh, you know nothing, Jon Snow.”

Myrcella knew Jon Stark, he was Arya’s cousin, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, though he refused to call himself a Targaryen. He was a hunter too, just like the rest of his family, and it would be easy to get to the crime scene with him working on the case. She reached for her phone to send a message to Arya when something shiny caught her attention.

“What is that?” she asked Shireen, pointing to the base of a tree.

It gleamed red and gold and silver. Shireen climbed off the tree to get it and when she came back up she was holding a gold chain with a ruby that pulsed hot and red, smaller diamonds surrounding the red stone. It was horribly red and she had the sensation she had seen it before.

“This seems familiar,” Shireen said, voicing Myrcella’s thoughts.

“”I know. Okay, let’s get out of here. I’ll text Arya to contact her cousin.”

“This seems awfully familiar,” Shireen murmured, pocketing the pendant.

* * *

“Yes, Mama,” Myrcella agreed over the phone.

Miss Eglie was cooking them dinner: minced meat with tomato sauce, rice and fried bananas. Myrcella grabbed a spoon from one of the drawers and stole a bit of meat.

“And remind Tomm he has an appointment tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“Dentist with Uncle Stannis.”

“All right. We miss you.”

“Of course you do. Don’t go to bed too late and tell Joff to call me as soon as he can. Bye, Cella.”

“Bye, Mama.”

She hung up and grabbed the plates she needed to set the table. When she got to the dining room, Tommen had already put down the tablecloth and was setting the napkins in place.

“Mama says that you have a dentist appointment tomorrow.”

“I know,” he said, “at four.”

“Don’t you have practise at four?”

“Five. Do you think Mr. Seaworth will have time to show me how to use an excel?”

“I don’t think so, no. He’s not our uncle’s secretary anymore, he’s a dental assistant, now. Perhaps you can ask his new secretary, her name’s Mel-”

“Myrcella, is everything all right?”

She had paused midway through a sentence and Tommen knew inmediately that something was wrong. She knew he did, because her brother knew her better than about anyone, better than Arya or Shireen, and she never paused mid-sentence.

“I have to call Shireen, I’ve solved it. Where’s the phone?”

“You left it in the kitchen, dear,” Miss Eglie said, putting down the silverwear, “but it’s dinner time, you’re not allowed to speak on the phone or-”

“I’m sorry Miss Eglie, I have to go,” she exclaimed, grabbing her brother’s cellphone from his jean’s pocket.

She called her cousin while climbing the stairs to her room and put it on speaker to change into her hunting gear.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Cella, I know why the pendant seemed so familiar. It’s Melisandre’s.”

“My dad’s secretary?”

“Yeah. She’s red.”

“What?”

“She’s a Red Priestess, that’s why she dresses all in red. Where does she live?”

“How am I supposed to know?!”

“Find out, I’m on my way over.”

She grabbed her brother’s keys from the foyer and headed towards his motorbike without bothering to inform him. She knew how to ride it, her father had taught her during when he was training her as a hunter. She just didn’t know if she was good enough to ride as fast as possible without breaking her neck or getting caught by the numerous cops that seemed to linger around town. Well, it looked like she’d find out soon.

She climbed on the bike and hit the gas before Miss Eglie could stop her. She had to avoid going anywhere near the park and the police station and she almost crashed twice in her haste to get to Shireen’s, both times while she was taking a sharp turn. She got there in one piece though, and her cousin was already waiting for her at the door. She jumped off the bike and they climbed on Shireen’s car.

“Mother says Melisandre lives on the edge of town, on one of those new buildings the Tyrells own.”

“Those apartments are way too expensive for a simple secretary.”

“Well, now we know she’s a witch, not a secretary. She must work by comission.”

“That’s creepy.”

“She births shadows, everything about her must be creepy.”

As they neared the buildings, Myrcella began to prepare their weapons. She applied a new coat of the smelly potion on their blades, filled a shotgun with ammunition and double-laced her boots. Meanwhile, Shireen had parked right around the corner of Melisandre’s supposed house.

“What now?”

Myrcella shrugged and handed Shireen her knives.

“Well,” she said, turning to her, “we could just walk over there and you-”

The car shook, throwing them forward and making the seatbelt dig into their necks. They screamed, the piercing sound cutting into the silence. Cella made to take off her seat belt when the Shadow fell on the car’s hood. The windshield shattered into a thousand pieces and glass went flying everywhere. They raised their arms to protect their faces, but a few shards got through, cutting their faces.

“Fuck, let’s get out of-” Shireen couldn’t finish. The car shook again and this time it started moving towards the nearest tree. They had no time to escape.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Shireen, duck!”

The car hit the tree with so much force that it bent, the windows on Myrcella’s side shattered and glass fell on their backs, cutting through their clothes and padding and slicing into their skin.

A scream filled the night, one of an enraged animal, and it froze their blood.

“My parents are gonna kill me,” Shireen whispered.

“I wouldn’t worry about your parents right now. Can you open your door?”

Shireen tried.

“It’s stuck,” she said, “but I’m going to try something.”

Whatever it was that Shireen was going to do, it was interupted by the appearance of the Shadow before them. Its smoky fingers grabbed at the drivers’ door and it pulled until it was ripped off with a screech. Shireen paled and froze, her breath stuck in her lungs. Myrcella’s hands were shaking as she raised her shotgun to the Shadow’s face and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through its forehead but it stumbled backwards and hissed at them. Shireen took advantage of its momentary distraction to throw a knife at it. The girls cut through the seatbelts and jumped out of the car through the driver side. There was smoke coming out of the car’s engine and Cella spared a moment to mourn the loss of the car.

Moment over, Myrcella strapped the shotgun to her back and unsheathed her sword. Arya had named it _Sugar Baby_ , because Robert had had it made to look pretty, delicate and deadly and at the time she was looking for a name, she also had the hugest crush on her History teacher. _Sugar Baby_ had stuck with them, just as Arya’s N _eedle_ , Margaery’s _Rose_ and Tommen’s _Golden Kitten_ , much to his embarrassment.

The Shadow had recovered quickly and plunged at them with talons at the ready. Shireen jumped backwards and threw a knife at it, while Myrcella charged with her sword held high. With it she drew a perfect arc, but the Shadow was quick and avoided her blow with ease. She was hit hard from behind and stumbled to the ground with her head throbbing. Her sword fell from her hand —fuck, a _beginners’_ mistake— and the blood trickled down her lip. Shireen screamed behind her and she tried to stand, but something came crashing down her nape, pinning her in place.

“Well, _sweetie_ , how pretty you are,” Melisandre said, her accent thick and heavy on her words. She had thought it was middle eastern the first time she’d met her, but it was something entirely different, much hotter, burning even, and venemous. “You’d make a perfect sacrifice for the Lord of Light, you would.”

Melisandre’s heel cut through her uncovered skin and she cursed out loud, filling her words with hatred.

“Such colourful language from a young and pretty lady like you. From Mr. Baratheon’s own niece! It must be true, then, that you are your father’s daughter. The blood of storms mixed with that of lions, so powerful…”

Shireen’s screams had turned to vicious snarls. Myrcella’s head hurt where she had hit it —she wasn’t sure she _had_ , though, everything was just so blurry—, but she raised her hand and grabbed at Melisandre’s leg. She pulled, throwing her on the ground, and the witch’s heel left a cut on her skin. She could feel the blood gushing out, but she forced herself to ignore it and focused on the woman before her.

Melisandre was much paler since she’d last saw her: her beautiful, red hair had into a dying copper, streaked with silver and white at her temples; her skin looked pasty and greenish, her veins popping up in blue and purple and yellow. Her eyes were dull and her lips were cracked, stretching into a grotesque smile.

Myrcella tried to jump over her, but Melisandre kicked her in the face and Myrcella let go of her. But Myrcella was quick, young, and more importantly trained. It was obvious that Melisandre wasn’t. She was sloppy, as if she had learned to fight on the streets with gutter rats and underdogs. Myrcella sank her nails on the woman’s calf and pulled her towards herself.

“R’hllor, Lord of Light, I invoke you to-”

Myrcella smashed the older woman’s head on the floor to keep her from continuing and she reached for her sword —only to remember she had lost it while fighting the Shadow. It was enough of a distraction for Melisandre. The woman put her perfectly manicured hand on Myrcella’s chest.

“Ask for the Wind,” she finished.

Myrcella was thrown several feet in the air and she crashed against a tree. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from her. Her head was spinning and she took a few painful breaths to help focus herself. Shireen was still fighting the Shadow, somehow, and Melisandre had picked up Cella’s sword. With the other hand Melisandre was clutching at her own throat.

“Do something Myrcella!” Shireen shouted, dodging the Shadow’s attempt at a creepy hug.

Melisandre smirked and scratched at her neck with her long, red nails as if she were searching for something. The witch turned to her as she tried to stand up with her vision unfocused and Melisandre closed her hand in a tight fist. The air left her suddenly, suckled by the priestess’ terrible smile, and she spasmed uncontrolably, fighting to breathe. But bony fingers clutched at her from a distance and white spots began to dance before her eyes as Melisandre used her powers to choke her.

She was going to die without getting to see Robb Stark all suited up for Sansa’s birthday, without getting to see Gendery and Arya end up together, without getting to tell her parents what she wanted to do with her life. She was going to die here, being choked by a psychotic, red, _bitch_.

The pressure eased suddenly, and Myrcella gasped, greedily breathing in air and coughing. Shireen had thrown one of her knives at Melisandre, distracting the witch for a moment, enough to get her to stop choking Myrcella. Cella absently made a note to get her cousin a good Christmas present for saving her life, and for providing a sudden moment of clarity.

Everything had revolved around necks, Myrcella realized, Melisandre’s heel holding her down, scratching at her neck, trying to choke her afterwards… She reached inside on of the pockets of her jacket and drew out the pendant.

“You want this, bitch?”

Melisandre looked even paler. It was Myrcella’s turn to smirk, even though everything she did hurt. It was worth it to see the witch’s eyes widen in horror.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Melisandre screamed, scared.

“I think I do.”

She threw the pendant in the air towards the witch and reached for the shotgun at her back, releasing it easily. Melisandre didn’t know whether to attack her or jump for the pendant. She raised her hand, though, and a yellow light shined in her palm just as Shireen’s knife came flying into view. It hit the ruby, breaking it into a hundred little pieces, and Melisandre screeched and made to run over to her. But Myrcella was faster: she pulled the trigger, hitting her on the forehead, and she fell on the ground with a scream still on her lips.

The Shadow disolved in the air, leaving behind the peculiar smell.

“I think we’ll need Marg to take care of us.”

“I’ll call her to come pick us up. Uncle Renly will need to get my car out of here before the police find it.”

“I’ll call Sansa so Jon Stark can come look for the missing child, I’m way too dizzy to deal with it.”

* * *

The Stark’s house looked gorgeous. She’d baked dozens of cupcakes with Margaery, along with a few of Sansa’s favourite lemon cakes. Shireen’s mother owned a bakery, so she’d put Arya’s friend Hot Pie to work and they’d taken care of everything else. Uncle Renly had taken food and Loras had gotten some of his musician friends to come play.

Myrcella had forgotten how loaded they all were in this stupid town. And by loaded she meant that money poured out of their ears. Both her mother’s family and her father’s family were old money. Insanely rich ancestors that had invested their money wisely over generations so that they became even more obscenely rich. Baratheon Motors specialized in cars for the wealthy, fully customized and specially made. Uncle Renly was the CEO, though her Papa was on the board. Uncle Stannis had decided to open his clinic in town and ignore their crazy family as much as he could without actually breaking his ties to them because, deep down, he loved them all. Of course he hadn’t renounced what was his by right and he was an impotant shareholder. And her Papa had even run in the F1 alongside Schumacher for two seasons, when her Mama had asked him (ordered him, really) to step away from hunting for some time once Joff was born. Lannister Corp. had fingers in many pies. Her mother didn’t care for business while Grandpa Tywin did whatever he did to make sure he made Forbes 100. She knew it was a sore subject between her Grandfather and her Mama; but whenever she felt like doing something, Grandfather directed her towards Auntie Genna, who had taken over Joanna Lannister’s fashion empire of _haute couture_. That would be hers, Auntie Genna had promised, and whenever Myrcella mentioned it, her mother looked at her and called her ‘Mama’s clever girl’.  

The dress she’d chosen was pink with just one strap that tightened on her waist and then widened to her mid-thighs. Nothing fancy, no patterns or that lace that had become popular lately. She’d put on nude, round toe stilettoes and golden jewelry: a ring with a lion’s head, bracelets, and simple earrings. Marg had curled her hair in soft ringlets and she looked like a younger and sweeter version of her mother. Her Papa, just returned from his trip, had kissed her on the cheek and called her beautiful while Ned Stark had smiled and patted her on the head. She’d blushed, because it was clear that as Tully as Robb looked, he had inherited his smile from his father

She was growing tired of her silly crush. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to snog him senseless anymore (she definitely did, if the delicious dream she had had last night had anything to do with it. She had woken up sweaty, restless and with an ache between her legs), but soon enough he’d discover who she was, whose _daughter_ she was. Not to mention how old she was, and that would definitely put an end to all the flirting.

 She was not stupid enough to hope for anything: she was sixteen, she’d only turn seventeen in April, and Robb was away in college, nineteen years old and she was also pretty sure he had a girlfriend; Sansa and Arya had mentioned her once or twice, a Jeyne Western or something, so it was hopeless. It was hopeless and she wanted to punch someone in the face (him, preferably with her own face, gently, on the lips, with her lips, oh god this was hopeless).

Sansa had not arrived yet, but she saw Arya speaking with Trys and Quentyn. Arya looked pretty with her hair tied back in an elegant ponytail and she was even wearing make up. She was wearing a short top that showed her stomach, high waisted jeans and wedge sandals, something very _Arya_ : comfortable but pretty enough to keep her mother happy.

She hugged Trys from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“What’s up, asshole?”

Trys smirked at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and twitched her nose playfully before saying, “Well, talking with the Starks.”

Just then she realised that beside Arya and hidden from view behind Trys’ tall form, Robb Stark was looking at her with wide eyes. She smiled shyly, blushing a little bit, thanking the tan she had somehow retained from her vacation in Florida for not letting her normally fair skin go from white to red.

“Hello, Robb.”

“You remember Myrcella, don’t you, Robb?” Arya asked, trying and failing to hide her cheeky grin.

Robb choked on his beer and looked at her with accusing eyes. Myrcella simply smiled and twirled a lock of hair round her finger.

“Yes, yes, of course I remember her.”

“Of course,” Arya agreed, rolling her eyes at him, “how could you not remember a girl like Myrcella? I mean, boys like you… have a great memory.”

And neither Arya or Myrcella could stop the laughing fit they fell into at the sight of the violent flush that spread over Robb’s face, making him look like a tomato (even if Myrcella herself was blushing furiously, too).

 


	2. The Zombies

**Or**

**“In Which Marg Falls in Love (With a Dress) and it is Declared that Robb Stark has a Fly Booty (by Cella)”**

Myrcella had forgiven Trystane Martell for lying to her and using her as a beard after a month and a half of thinking it over and bitching at Margaery Tyrell about it. Mainly because Trys was her friend and she kind of loved him; he had been her friend for longer than he’d been her boyfriend.

And he had puppy dog eyes that could sell a polar bear ice. He could ask her to burn down Westwood’s PD and she’d probably do it in a heartbeat just because he had that way of looking at her that made his eyes all shiny and his full lips got all pouty. He was gay and he had used her as a beard until he’d felt ready to come out, which was mean and had left her _egoless_ (totally a word according to Arya) for a month and a half, but he was her friend and she was, if nothing else, loyal to her. So she’d forgiven him and gotten over it by sticking her tongue down Edric Dayne’s throat for a few weeks because he was cute and nice and willing and he had this wicked way of twirling his tongue just so that made her want to tear his clothes off of his body.

And now she was sitting on the hood of Margaery’s car, drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup and waiting for her to drop the “very impressive” news she had, thinking about how the last time someone had dropped very impressive news on her, she’d ended _egoless_ and sad and without a boyfriend.

She looked at lovely Sansa, sitting in her cheerleading uniform on a rocking chair on the Tyrell’s porch, and smiled at her from where she sat crossed-legged. Sansa was pretty in a stunning way, almost as pretty as Marg, though many would say Sansa was even prettier than the Rose of Highgarden. Sansa took after her mother, a Tully of Riverrun, with bright, red hair, all copper and fire, and bright blue eyes. Everything about her was sweet and lovely, from her fair and smooth skin, with no visible freckles or imperfections, to her soft and melodic voice. She was tall, too, taller than Margaery and Myrcella herself, and, of course, taller than Arya, who was the shortest of them all.

But despite Sansa’s beauty and her perfection, Myrcella still thought Marg was prettier. It wasn’t important, she loved them both the same, but still. If she were ever to hook up with a girl, she would like it to be Marg. She had the whole innocent, only girl of four siblings look going for her, but to Myrcella, she always had that way of smiling with her hazel eyes that made her look like the cat that ate the cream. Her brown hair fell in lazy curls over her shoulders to the middle of her back and her smile was always sweet and sexy at the same time. Marg was the kind of girl that could destroy your life with a single kiss.

Margaery came out of the house with a tray of chocolate chip cookies just as Myrcella was climbing off of the hood of the car and they both sat on the steps, right in front of Sansa.

“How do you feel now that you’re eighteen, Sansa?”

Sansa shrugged while she bit down on a cookie and brushed a few crumbs off her fingers.

“It’s nice, but scary. October is a terrible month to be born in, but it’s also the best.”

“You make no sense,” Myrcella teased.

“Well, I should’ve been in college already and it sucks that I’m still in high school, but it’s scary to think that, had I been born in August or the first couple of weeks of September, I would be out of school and into the _real world_ by now. I don’t know, barely a week has passed since the party, I’m still feeling sentimental.”

“I understand,” Margaery said before looking at Myrcella. “And you, Cella, something new to tell us?”

“Nope,” she said, though Robb’s number made her phone burn through her cheerleading jacket. She hadn’t told anyone, not even _Shireen_ , and as much as she knew she needed to tell Sansa and Arya, she still wasn’t ready and she feared Sansa’s reaction. “But if I remember correctly, we’re here ‘cause _you_ had to tell us something.”

“Well, yes,” Marg said, blushing furiously and making Myrcella arch an eyebrow. Marg hardly ever blushed. “Don’t lift your eyebrow at me, you look too much like your mother and it’s scary.”

“Marg, you’re changing the topic,” Sansa chastised.

“Sorry. Right. Well, I kind of have a boyfriend.”

“Congrats, Marg, that’s so nice!” Sansa said before their friend could finish speaking. She jumped from her chair and rushed to hug Margaery, who looked happy, ashamed and guilty at the same time. That could only mean bad things for Sansa. And Myrcella _knew_ Margaery: she liked pretty boys with gorgeous hair, boys with sharp tongues and expressive eyes and kind souls but with a dangerous streak to them. She knew many boys like that, but only four jumped to mind: Jon Stark, Robb Stark, Gendry Waters and Trystane Martell. Trys was out of the picture the moment his name crossed her mind for obvious reasons and Gendry had a massive hard on for Arya and Marg was aware of it. Only the Stark boys remained and she was sincerely hoping Marg had banged Sansa’s cousin, not her brother, if only to avoid throwing up the cookies on Mr. Tyrell’s porch.

“Well, who is he?” Sansa asked, oblivious to Myrcella’s paleness. “Or are you experimenting again?”

“I know him from college,” Marg said, and Myrcella paled even more, because Marg attended Brown, just like Robb. “Actually, I… ah… Well… I just… I’m so sorry Myrcella, but he was just so charming and he has this way of making me laugh and he keeps his whole library in alphabetical order and by publishing house and-”

“Calm down, Marg,” Sansa laughed, unfazed by it all, and Myrcella realized that Marg couldn’t be speaking of any of the Starks or Sansa would have known.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Marg spoke again, “that I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but Tyrion and I are seeing each other.”

Myrcella’s natural reaction would have been laughter —it would have been perfectly normal for her to react in such a way given her uncle’s promiscuous tendencies and Marg’s lifestyle. On one hand, Tyrion Lannister, Professor and Writer, didn’t do dating. Special friendships, he called them, not dating. Dating meant caring and he had trust issues ever since the succubus incident with that Tysha women.

On the other hand, Margaery was a college girl and “college girls experiment”. That roughly translated into Margaery “trying to figure out her sexuality” (even though everyone knew by know she was bisexual) and hooking up with both men and women from time to time, switching up partners and combining some others. In her mind, Uncle Tyrion and Margaery Tyrell should not have mixed up, but strangely, they kind of did.

Margaery was bright and witty, full of fire and ideas, all ambitious and hungry for power, ready to do great things and sit at the top of the throne, while Uncle Tyrion was smart and tamed, intellectual and calm and witty and everything a thirty-one year old hipster teacher should be. Perhaps he wasn’t very handsome and him being a dwarf (“ _If you ever call me little person I won’t buy you that stupid Oreo ice cream you love so much ever again, Cella. I swear it, and not only ice cream, there’ll be no more movie nights with Mulan and Ariel._ ”) made a lot of people feel uncomfortable, but he did have something that had many of his female students harboring a crush on him.

“Are you sure?” Myrcella asked nonetheless, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes.”

“Um… Well… Yes, okay. Fine. He’s just my uncle. It’s better than when you dated Joffrey for two months, three weeks and two days. That was depressing. And disgusting.”

“I’m happy you’re not mad at me.”

“There’s nothing for her to be mad at,” Sansa supplied; “she loves you both and she wants you to be happy.”

Myrcella nodded, still thinking about how weird it was before reaching for her phone to stare at Robb’s number. She didn’t feel brave enough to text him yet, so she texted Gendry instead. Margaery kissed her on the cheek in thanks and offered another cookie, knowing the food would distract her. And she was right.

* * *

 “ _You wearing pink today 2?_ ”

“ _CL uniform. Red, white n gold._ ”

“ _CL?_ ”

“ _Cheerleading._ ”

“ _Cool. Picture?_ ”

“ _Night, Sboy._ ”

Myrcella smiled at Robb’s unashamed flirting before dropping her phone beside her laptop and turning to Arya sitting on her bed.

“You’re blushing, Cella. Are you sexting my brother?”

“Shut it, perv.”

“Whatever. You think I should ask Gendry out myself? As in a date?”

“He’d like that, I think. It would be nice.”

“I feel like Sansa.”

“That’s not so bad,” Myrcella said, smiling, “she’s sweet. And you and Gendry will be good. It means we’ll double date.”

“We won’t.”

“If believing that helps you sleep at night…”

* * *

She could barely walk at all when she got home after field hockey practice, Arya at her side disgustingly fine. Tommen came out to greet them. He was still wearing his soccer uniform, so he’d just gotten home, too, but he was holding little croissants for them in a plate and she knew Miss Eglie had made them because she was cool like that. Miss Eglie was a forty year old woman who didn’t have much family. What little she had lived in either Ohio or Martinica. Myrcella and Tommen had known her all their lives. Her food came straight from Heaven, Cella was sure.

“What’s got you so excited, Tommy?”

“Uncle Renly’s here,” he said, handing the plate to Arya, “He says he’s got something to keep us busy for a while. And he brought presents.”

Uncle Renly was of the thought that he could buy his way to their hearts and he was totally right. Renly was sitting in the living room with his feet propped up on the coffee table, half reading a magazine and half checking out Shemar Moore on the TV, when they came in. He flashed them a grin before throwing the magazine to the side and thrusting a manila envelope at her. _So dramatic_ , she thought, smiling and sitting down besides Arya.

“I want my presents first.”

“Don’t demand, it’s not nice.”

“Whatever. Presents?”

“Someone’s digging graves and you’re worried about some presents? Bit selfish, don’t you think, Princess?”

“If I’m gonna die, I want to open my presents first.”

“All right, all right… ‘Tis for you, Tomm,” he said, giving her brother a package wrapped in bright blue and silver paper ribbons, “and this for you, doll.”

Her present was wrapped in pink, like always, because everyone always wrapped her presents in pink. Grandfather Tywin was the only one who didn’t wrap her presents is pink. He only gave them presents on their birthdays and for Christmas, but when he did they were always wrapped in red and gold. Not only because he was a Lannister, but also because when she was ten she had been obsessed with Gryffindor. Uncle Jaime said that she reminded him of Nana Jo, so he had a soft spot for her. As much as a man like Tywin Lannister could have a soft spot. He wasn’t the most paternal figure. She had a sneaking suspicion that he had no idea how to treat her, so he defaulted to treating her like a very smart puppy. Kind of like her Papa did.

“Jimmy Choo pumps! Well, now I know who my favorite uncle is. God, you suck for being so cool, Uncle Renly.”

“Oh my God!” Tommen cried, “this is signed by Gerard Piqué!” he said, holding a soccer ball in his hands.

“Shakira auditioned for a part in the musical Loras is in, so I saw them there and knew you’d love it.”

“You suck.”

“I think you mean I rock, nephew dear.”

“Nah,” Myrcella laughed, “you’re awful. Thanks Uncle Renly, we love it.”

“So, before you lot get all emotional, tell us what’s goin’ on with those graves,” Arya demanded and, just like that, it was all business again.

* * *

Friday came bright and golden, much like Myrcella’s mood. She had a good feeling about the day and she had woken refreshed even after having stayed up late the night before patrolling the cemetery. The only graves she’d seen had been messed with were of some women named Carolyn Shepherd and a Ronald Bing’s, though Arya insisted it was Ping, not Bing.

She put on the school uniform, brushed her hair and put on some pink gloss before running to breakfast. Miss Eglie had made chocolate chip pancakes, her favorite, lemoncakes and strawberry jam to go with the homemade bread. Her mother looked happy as she ate, her Papa said she looked pretty when she entered the room, Tomm smiled brightly at her and Joff just shrugged and passed her the pancakes before she could even ask for them. Life was good, she decided, especially because the pshyco who was digging graves was just that, a pshyco, and not some supernatural being that needed a good kick in the ass.

Her phone vibrated just as she went outside to wait for Shireen.

“T _op mark on the last paper your uncle made me write princess._ ”

She smiled at Robb’s message.

“ _Good little genius._ ”

“ _Not so little ;)._ ”

She sent the last message just as Shireen was pulling over the corner with her new car.

“ _Perv._ ”

* * *

“Have you asked Gendry?”

Arya looked up from the blade she was polishing. Arya had never looked out of place in Myrcella’s room, even if the walls were painted a butter yellow and the canopy bed was fit for a princess; Arya was a part of it, just as much as Shireen and Tommen —they were everywhere, in every picture, souvenir, gift, and drawing.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Myrcella sighed and picked up a pair of earrings from her jewelry box to examine them.

“That’s not an answer.”

Arya shrugged and threw the blade away to lie on the bed. Her head was sticking out the end of it so her braid fell almost to the ground, while she kept moving her legs around, up and down, left and right. It was distracting.

“I’ll wait.”

“I’ve a mind to kick some sense into him so he doesn’t make you wait.”

“I like him, I think. Even though I still think that’s ridiculous. Why should I like him?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. She seemed truly concerned by it and Myrcella almost pitied her.

“Because you do. And you make perfect sense.”

“He’s too old, Dad would kill him. So would Robb. And Jon, too. And the dogs.”

“Wolves.”

“They’re dogs.”

“They’re wolves, I’m sure. Killing machines.”

“You’re so dramatic, Cella.”

“Whatever. Don’t ask him out, if you don’t want to, but I still think you should. We’re hunters, bonding with our partners and banging them is our jam. And since you and I aren’t doing it, you should try it with Gendry. I bet he’s a good kisser. It’s always the quiet ones, you know. Dayne was killer at it.”

Myrcella would have kept talking on and on, seeing as Arya hadn’t interrupted her yet, but she’d caught the look in her eyes, something like curiosity mixed with fear, uncertainty and determination. Myrcella hated those looks; they often meant great ideas on Arya’s part and grounded weekends on hers. She went to protest, but Arya was faster.

“I need your help.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“What for?” she asked against her better judgment.

Arya’s smile was timid, something she hadn’t seen often, and Myrcella turned her chair to her completely.

“I need you to kiss me.”

“Have you been sniffing glue again?”

Arya threw a pillow at her, but Myrcella caught it easily.

“No! I mean it!”

“I… uh…”

Arya rolled her eyes and went to sit on her knees. Her hair was messy and sticking out of her braid, like always, and she bit down on her lower lip. If Myrcella hadn’t known Arya as well as she did, she might have thought she was joking, but Myrcella had grown up with her —daycare, kindergarten, elementary school, middle school and now high school, those were a lot of years getting to know someone— and she knew her like the back of her hand, could tell her apart in a sea of people.

“Why do you want us to kiss?” she managed to ask at last.

“’Cause I’ve never, you know… And Gendry, like, uh, sometimes… Gendry makes me nervous, sorta. And I just wanna get it over with.”

“So you want us to kiss.”

“Yeah.”

“But wouldn’t you want your first kiss to be with someone who means something to you?” Cella asked.

“You mean a lot to me!” she insisted.

Arya’s eyebrows were scrunched together, as they often got when she felt indignant. Myrcella smiled sweetly at her and went to join her on the bed.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but…” Arya tried to say, but she didn’t seem to know how to finish her thoughts.

“Kissing is just kissing, love,” Myrcella said as they both lay on the bed besides each other, “Learning is half the fun. You can have Gendry teach you. And you’ll teach him.”

“Teach him?”

“There’s always something new to learn about kissing.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I can kiss you now, though, if it makes you feel better. Just once.”

“Just once. Please?”

Myrcella nodded and turned around so she was lying on her stomach. Arya was looking up at her with her big, grey eyes full of worry and nervousness and Myrcella smiled at her reassuringly. She bent down to peck her on the cheek.

“It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Arya smelled nice, like soap and pencils and grass and a bit like Mott’s, and her lips felt dry and chapped underneath Cella’s when she finally kissed her. Myrcella kissed her softly, barely grazing, and carefully, as she would approach a wild animal. When they parted, Arya’s cheeks were flushed and she looked dazed.

“That was nice,” she murmured and Myrcella laughed and pecked her again.

“C’mon,” she said, getting to her knees and helping Arya up, “I’ll do your nails.”

But just then her phone buzzed.

“ _Fancy a movie tonight princess?_ ”

Arya couldn’t hold in her laughter when she saw the blush that had spread on her cheeks.

“Robb might have mentioned that he’d ask you out tonight. You should say yes. I hear he’s a catch,” she teased.

“Fuck off, Arya.”

* * *

“Must you always look like a princess?”

Myrcella tucked her phone on her bag and turned towards Robb.

“Only for you, Stark Boy, only for you,” she said, blushing red.

Robb reached her side and bent to peck her on the cheek. He wasn’t that much taller than her, even if she was wearing flat boots, but he was solid, built like his father. The last time she had seen him in a swimsuit she had been twelve, too busy looking anywhere but at him to notice anything. She couldn’t wait until it was summer again. Hopefully, he would be her boyfriend. Hopefully, she would have gotten him out of his clothes by then. Several times. But she was getting ahead of herself.

“Any preferences for tonight?”

“I don’t care. Not scary, though; I hate the scary ones.”

Robb looked at her funny.

“You’re a hunter.”

“Yeah, I know. I still hate scary movies, don’t question me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I hate you.”

“But I’m cute, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Shut up, loser.”

Robb punched her lightly on the shoulder (was this where Arya had gotten it from?) and then he put his arm around her.

“What are you doing?”

“Half-hugging you.”

“But we haven’t even been on a date, yet!”

Robb laughed, a throaty noise that made her blush and tremble and hold her breath at the same time because he looked breathtaking. In that moment, she decided that he hadn’t looked more handsome, ever (she also decided she was going to marry him, but that she’d keep secret for eleven years and a half).

“This is a date, silly.”

“Yes, our first date! And it’s the beginning still! My mother always says I shouldn’t let you touch me until the second date, at least. At the end of it.”

“Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“Of course not. Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? Have you heard yourself? Do you have any idea of how adorable and cute and funny you are? God, Stark, no wonder Arya says you’re stupid.”

“You’re kinda mean, Cella,” he said, smiling arrogantly, although the tips of his ears were red.

“Oh, shut up, you know that already. I’ve had a crush on you for most of my life and you can’t hold that against me. You’re like Prince Charming, except you’re ginger.”

“I’m not ginger!”

“Denial.”

Grabbing her hand, he made her twirl right there on the pavement.

“Just so you know,” he said once she was stable again, “I’m going to kiss you at the end of this date. Don’t tell your mother, though.”

“Shut up,” she said, blushing. “Careful, though, I’m hiding an axe in my purse.”

Robb’s smile slipped up from his face and Myrcella laughed.

“Only joking, Stark. Well, actually, I _am_ hiding an axe, but I don’t plan on using it.”

“Well, that’s about to change, ‘cause I think a zombie just turned around the corner.”

“Pardon me?”

Robb motioned for her to turn around and, as she did, she caught sight of half a dozen of figures advancing towards them, some crawling, some hunched over, all of them snarling and screeching and clawing at thin air. They were nearer than she would have expected (just exactly how had she not heard them?) and she could clearly see their pale forms full of gashes and cuts. The skin swirled and curled, what was once cream or brown or olive now more mottled grey.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Robb laughed and ruffled her hair, making her scowl; she had spent forty-seven minutes making sure every curl was perfectly placed, thick and glossy and shiny, golden and warm like her mother’s. And now the bastard goes and messes them up. Little fucker.

“You better buy me ice cream after this, Cella!”

“And you better snog me properly.”

Robb blew her a kiss before he charged ahead against the first zombie creature. The knife in his hand shined silver and purple, the lines and marks dancing around the surface and catching the lampposts’ lights. She didn’t have time to analyze his actions or fighting technique; the next zombie was just reaching her and she grabbed the axe from her purse with too much force, making several of the contents spill on the floor.

The zombie charged towards her, his hands before him grasping towards her, but she sidestepped him in the last minute and swung the axe upwards. The blade caught the creature in the chest and thick, foul-smelling liquid spilled from the wound and splashed her shirt and her face. She was certain it was what had once been blood, but she didn’t want to think too hard about that when the nasty stuff was this close to her mouth.

“Scratch that,” she said to herself, “he better give me the best orgasm of my life. He better put Trys’ fingers to shame.”

She was distracted by all thoughts of orgasms when two more zombie lunged at her.

* * *

The zombies hadn’t been too hard to dispatch, and Cella had to admit that Robb was _good._ Neither of them was hurt, unless you counted her ruined dress (which she certainly did. It was her _favourite_ ).

“Did I hear something about an orgasm before, when we were kicking some ass?” Robb asked cheekily.

“You have hearing problems, Robb,” Cella dismissed, though she could feel her cheeks heating up. Then she added, “How about you walk me home and you kiss me anyway, even if I didn’t buy you ice cream?”

“We’ll compromise: I kiss you goodnight if you let me hold your hand on the way to yours.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Robb said, holding out his hand to hers.

Myrcella hesitated for a moment before taking it, mindful of the zombie not-blood that stained her fingers. But she was glad she did because Robb’s hand was warm and soft and much bigger than hers but somehow perfect (and there was zombie gunk on his hands too).

They walked in silence. It was a bit novel to Myrcella, who was used to filling up any lull in conversation with chatter. And it wasn’t just that she had a lot of things to say or that she liked the sound of her own voice (which she did, she sounded great, even if the girls who shared the changing room with her disagreed); she was a chatterbox, it was a part of her. Silence was terrifying, it meant a lack of monsters to fight, of people to save, of things to do. Noise, any kind of noise, was better than silence; it meant she had a purpose, it meant things were the same as ever, that nothing had changed. Anything could happen that, as long as noise remained, hunting would be there for her too. But with Robb, despite the newness of it all, despite the fear and the nervousness that she felt, it was a bit different; enough to make her aware of how important this was. She smiled, tightened the grip on his hand and kept quiet.

When they got to her house, Robb walked her up the driveway to the base of her porch. She let go of his hand and faced him, tilting her head up and raising her eyebrows expectantly. She smiled sweetley at him and Robb just laughed and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.

Robb’s lips were warm and clean despite the fight and he smelled of ashes and firewood after spending the last two hours burning the zombies. Sure, they hadn’t meant to spend those two hours killing zombies, but it wasn’t as if Cella hadn’t expected anything to happen. She _had_ brought an axe along on her date.

He was kissing her slowly, brushing and pressing his lips against hers carefully, and she liked the pace he was setting, as if he believed he had a whole lifetime to learn her. His fingertips caressed the back of her neck under her thick curls, now all sticky with dried blood, and she moaned against him. The sound of Joff’s voice shouting at Tomm brought her back to life, though, and she stepped away from Robb and climbed one of the steps of her porch.

“I have to go inside, now, but that was a nice date.”

“Quite fun, yes.”

“The girls and I are going shopping tomorrow. We could meet up afterwards on the last floor and I’ll buy you that ice cream you wanted, if you’re not busy.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Can I drive you home after?” Robb asked, adorably hopeful and eager.

“Yeah. You’ll have to park by those trees, though, if you want to make out.”

Robb rolled his eyes and pecked her once on the lips.

“Go to bed Cella. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

 “I am in love with this dress,” Marg said as she stepped out of the fitting room. She twirled once, the green fabric of the skirt twisting around her.

“You look amazing,” Myrcella said from where she was leaning against the wall.

“You do,” Sansa added, coming out of her own fitting room. The skirt and blouse combo looked amazing on her and Myrcella felt a twinge of jealousy she easily fought down. When you had friends like Margaery and Sansa, you got jealous sometimes, it was a fact of life.

“I’m serious, I am in love with this dress. I want to make sweet, sweet love to it,” Margaery continued, smoothing her hands over the fabric. “I want to move into a modest apartment with it and have a domestic partnership with it. I want to spend the rest of my life with this dress. Maybe even have a couple of baby dresses, too.”

“Careful Marg, Tyrion might get jealous,” Sansa joked as she went back into her fitting room.

“Are you crazy? Have you seen the way Tyrion looks at Marg? It’s like he’s spent weeks in the desert and she’s an oasis,” Arya’s muffled voice came from inside her fitting room.

“Like Robb looks at Cella?” Sansa asked coming out of the fitting room, skirt and blouse folded over her arm.  Myrcella’s smile slipped off her face.

“What?”

“I’m not stupid, Cella. And it hurts my feelings that you didn’t tell me sooner, I had to find out through Arya.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!”

“But you were talking to Robb the other day.”

“You mean you eavesdropped.”

“Never said I’d play fair, I was innocently on my way sneaking out and I overheard something interesting. Like our pretty princess over here going on a date with our dear eldest brother.”

“Ooh,” Margaery said, emerging from her fitting room, the dress held reverently on front of her on its hanger. “She finally did it. Nice, babe. Now, if Miss Ginger was sneaking out despite being eighteen already, that means she had a date too.”

Margaery smiled at Myrcella and winked, and Cella had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. Sansa blushed from head to toe and fussed with the hangers of the skirts.

“I… Maybe?”

“What do you mean, maybe? And where’s Shireen?”

“She tried on that skirt but she didn’t like it. I think she’s looking for shorts now. She told us to find her when we’re done here,” Myrcella said, gesturing to the still closed fitting room door. They could hear Arya’s muffled curses as she tried on clothes. “Now what did you mean by maybe, Sansa?”

“You’re a sneaky little one, Myrcella. A sneaky little one and I hate you. But I kinda love you, too. God, you’re horrible!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Arya finally came out, looking slightly traumatized. She shoved a bunch of hangers at Myrcella with a scowl, as if the clothes had personally wronged her.

 “Well,” Sansa said, rolling her eyes at her sister’s antics, “you were Trystane’s girlfriend and now I’ve met his brother.”

“You have?”

“At my party.”

“We know,” Margaery said, grinning, “we were all there. Let’s go see if Shireen found anything, then we’ll pay for these.”

“So… Quentyn Martell?” Myrcella asked, looking over the items she had decided to buy.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think he’d be your type,” Arya said, finally getting over the trauma of trying clothes on. She turned to Cella. “I’m still not sure about this skirt.”

“Get it,” Myrcella said firmly. “You look cute. And usually you look terrifying and deadly. So you should definitely snap up everything that makes you look cute. Now, Quentyn.”

“I don’t think I have a  _type_ ,” Sansa said defensively. “But he’s sweet. And nice. And I thought it would be nice to go out with him, try something different, you know. Go all Troy Bolton and Chad Danforth and fall in love with the quiet and smart boy. Well, Taylor wasn’t that quiet, but whatever.”

“The fact that you remember Chad’s last name is… I mean, I understand remembering Troy’s, because everyone remembers his name,” Arya said, “but Chad’s?”

“Must I remind you that you were in love with him?”

Arya’s cheeks flared red and she stuck her nose up in the air, “I wasn’t. I refuse to acknowledge the fact that I ever in my life watched High School Musical.”

“Can you give us details, Sansa?” Margaery exclaimed.

“Yeah, get’cha head in the game, Ginger Ale,” Arya laughed, but she stopped suddenly as Sansa arched an eyebrow. “We won’t ever speak of this. Ever. Now let’s go, I have to try on this thing. Tell me again, why do I need a skirt?”

* * *

Margaery was the first one to see Robb and she tugged on Myrcella’s coat as she whistled.

“I will hate you forever for this, honey.”

“You have no right,” Myrcella said, pointing her finger at Margaery’s face and smiling. “You are banging my uncle. And you’ve made me say that sentence, you owe me. Now shush, I’m going. Bye!”

“No, wait!” Arya shouted and crossed the distance between them in a few seconds, avoiding the numerous hangers. “We need to talk about the zombies.”

Myrcella bit her lip and looked at Robb’s approaching figure.

“Um, yeah… I’ll call you later, all right?”

“Really? There are zombies in town and we decide to go shopping and then you go on a date? Zombies, Myrcella!”

“Uh, yeah. I’m in love with your brother’s arms. Now calm down, you can ask Gendry to pick you up and do the dirty in his car.”

“I can call him for you,” Margaery offered, “Tell him you want to practice giving blowjobs.”

“You are disgusting,” Arya blushed. “Both of you. I’m leaving.”

“Where to? Gendry’s?” Sansa asked, laughing.

“His mom works late,” Shireen added.

“Fuck you, no. I’m going to… Dammit, I don’t have any other friends. I’m going to Jon’s. Yeah, to Jon’s! Goodbye!”

Laughing, Myrcella left them there and went to meet Robb.

“Why is Arya trying to telepathically kill you all?”

“We were bugging her about her love life.”

“She doesn’t have a love life,” Robb said, frowning.

“Yeah, I’m changing that. Not that there’s much to be changed. Things will happen on their own, I know, but I’d be a good Emma Woodhouse.”

“You’re aware that Emma Woodhouse is a terrible matchmaker, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Dammit!”

“C’mon, let me hold your hand.”

* * *

Myrcella looked up from the ice cream she’d been sharing with Robb to find him staring at her thoughtfully.

“Everything all right?”

“What? Oh, yeah, don’t worry. I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?” she asked trying, and failing, to scoop some vanilla ice cream on her spoon.

Robb scratched his cheeks and looked away. She waited, although she was starting to get a bad feeling about this. Knowing that she shouldn’t speak, though, she made herself concentrate on the ice cream.

“Where do you want to go after this?” he asked at last.

Myrcella smiled but her hands were shaking. He was lying, she had no doubt, and he was as awful at it as Arya, besides.

“The movies,” she said quietly, “maybe we can actually get inside this time.”

He smiled at her, but it was rather forced. She had an idea of what was troubling him —the same thing that had troubled her when she’d thought about this thing between them, when she really thought about it. Of course he would worry about it. How could he not? Who wouldn’t? The girls didn’t mind and she knew that she didn’t, either. But her parents probably would, and so would his. And then there were his friends, who would probably see her as a child trying to brag before her own friends of her older, more experienced and super hot boyfriend. It was just a three years difference, but it could be enough to get him in a world of trouble.

“I spoke with Gendry earlier today because he wanted to know when the next family reunion was. We also talked about this thing you and I have, and the age difference,” Myrcella said carefully.

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“And?” he asked.

“Gendry’s not much younger than you, just a year, and he thinks that it isn’t that big of a deal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said and she took his hand in hers, his skin warm against her own. “Well, actually, he told me to be sure you were into me and that you weren’t using me, ‘cause he didn’t want to see me _egoless_ again.”

“Is _egoless_ even a word?”

“Ask Arya, she’s the genius who invented it. Anyways, apart from that, he just told me to be careful, make sure I feel comfortable enough before doing anything with you and to tell my parents first. That last part is impossible, but I will tell them once I get home. So you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Robb let out a breath, a half smile sort of thing that ended in his lips curving upwards at her. He looked cute, but then again, he always looked cute, the bastard.

“It’s just that I spoke with Theon about you and he was his usual self.”

“His usual self?”

“He’s my best friend and all, but he’s an asshole most of the time,” Robb said.

Robb went back to eating the ice cream, although one of his hands was still being held by her own.

“Arya’s mentioned him before, says he’s fun to have around.”

“Arya hasn’t shared a flat with him.”

“So what did he say?”

Robb hesitated before taking a deep breath and telling her, “That he thought I had been joking when I said I was going to ask you out. And that you were ‘a pretty little thing’, but that I could get myself in jail for this.”

Myrcella scowled and squeezed his hand.

“Okay, if we’re going to do this, get one thing straight. Never, _ever_ call me a thing. Your friend is a douchebag. Listen to me, we are fine. Actually, no, scratch that, we’re more than fine. We’re awesome. We’re so awesome that there’ll be fireworks when I tell my parents we’re an item and Uncle Tyrion will dance the hula while Uncle Stannis will smile. You know my Uncle Stannis, you know how huge that is.”

Robb laughed at her speech and nodded. “Sorry about that, it’s just that-”

“I get it, don’t worry. Now let’s go back to this ice cream, it’s melting. And before I forget to ask: did you tell your parents about us?”

“Yes, I told my mother last night.”

“And?”

“Mom adores you, as you know. Dad hasn’t said anything yet. I’m sure mom has told him, but he doesn’t like to talk about this kind of thing. You should’ve seen him when he tried to give Jon and I  _the talk_. Who says  _the talk_  anyways?”

“I think you should kiss me.”

“Were you listening to me?”

“Yes. And I still think you should kiss me.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re young and hot and your best friend is an asshole. Now kiss me.”

She pouted at him, but it was hard to do so while trying not to laugh. Robb laughed, tugged at her braid to move her closer and leaned forward. He was smiling her favorite smile, the one that occupied his whole face, all teeth and gums and lips. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, tugged him to her and planted her lips on his carefully, unsure of how to kiss him. She hadn’t had time to learn him yet, and she had been right when she’d told Arya half the fun was figuring it out, and so she moved her lips slowly, taking care to savour every moment, biting down and caressing and smacking.

When they parted, she slowly opened her eyes to find him staring back at her with a dazed look on his face.

“I’m glad you asked me to kiss you,” he said at last and Myrcella giggled.

Everything would have been perfect if it weren’t for the message that lit up her phone.

“ _S.O.S_ ” Arya had written and not two second later her phone started ringing.

“I swear to fucking God, Arya,” she said after picking it up, watching as Robb looked at her, his eyes clouding over with concern, “one of these days I’m going to kill you. What did you do, now?”

“I blew the horn.”

* * *

“Sweet baby Jesus, my sister is an idiot,” Robb said as he hit the gas.

Myrcella agreed wholeheartedly, but she was far too busy searching through her purse to say anything. It was bad enough that she was wearing leggings, a chiffon blouse and high-heeled boots to fight zombies, but she couldn’t find the wildfire poppers the Martell brothers had sent her and the blade-bracelets she had decided not to wear in the end but that she had been sure she had thrown in her bag before leaving the house and she really, really needed them if they were going to survive this. She wasn’t even wearing an axe this time; all she had were a couple of dragonglass knives and a water gun filled with holy water.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit…”

“It’s all right; I’ve got some things in the car-”

“No, no, I need a machete, my wildfire poppers and an axe, at least.”

“I’ve got an axe.”

“And I need _Sugar Baby_.”

Robb turned to look at her with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My sword.”

“You named your sword _Sugar Baby_?”

“Arya did. And it’s an awesome name, thank you very much. Now shush, I’m gonna call Tomm.”

“All right, all right.”

As Robb went over the speed limit with ease, Myrcella took out her phone from the mess she’d made inside her purse and dialed Tommen’s number. With a bit of luck she wouldn’t throw up while talking —she was used to speed by now, her Father didn’t even know the meaning of any limit, let alone speed, but Robb drove with such frenzy that it turned her stomach.

 “Yes?” her brother’s voice came from the speaker.

“I’m driving towards the cemetery; I need you to bring me wildfire poppers, _Sugar Baby_ , the golden bracelets in my room and a machete. And anything you can get your hands on. Do we have anything else that can kill a zombie?”

“What the hell is going on Myrcella?”

“Tomm, concentrate, Arya’s in danger ‘cause she’s a silly head. And call Gendry, ask him to come. Brute force is what we need right now.”

“Got it: bracelets, machete, _Sugar Baby_. Where the heck are the wildfire poppers?”

“In the basement,” Myrcella shouted as Robb took a sharp turn and sent her flying towards the window. “Fuck, Robb.”

“I’m trying to get to my stupid sister. What was she thinking?”

“That there would be four or five zombies at most. Don’t worry, I told her to climb to the roof of the church because those lazy idiots don’t know up from down.”

“Don’t jinx it, Cella,” came Tommen’s reply.

“No such thing as jinxing Tomm,” she said, rolling her eyes even though he couldn’t see it. It was the principle of the matter really. “Did you find those poppers?”

“Yes, yes! I’m on my way out.”

“Take Joff’s bike.”

“Do you want me to die on the way? No, thank you, I’ll take my bicycle. Gotta go, bye!”

“Call Gendry!” she managed to say right before he hung up.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves; it wasn’t all Arya’s fault, after all —like her, Myrcella had also believed there wouldn’t be many of those zombies. She had killed about six the first time with Robb and there hadn’t been many defiled graves when she’d patrolled the place with Arya. Arya had been reckless and stupid, but that wasn’t anything new, and as long as she did her job (and she always did) Myrcella would forgive her any of her stupidities. Everyone made stupid mistakes. Like blowing a horn that called every zombie to it. Thank God that girl was pretty.

 

The red and blue lights flashed in the corner of her eye and Robb swore. The sirens started ringing right after and Myrcella could have sworn she heard God laugh at her when she realized they were being chased by the cops.

“Of fucking course,” she murmured. This was not how things were supposed to go —all she’d wanted was to go shopping with the girls and then have a nice evening with her soon-to-be-boyfriend. Zombies, of course, didn’t care for her social life, and neither did the police. It was really, really unfair that everyone seemed to be able to socialize at will, especially if they went to college, because then they avoided assignments like it was no one’s business. She couldn’t wait to get into UPenn or Brown, both were fine for her, and then she’d be able to go on real dates with Robb and spent a whole afternoon with him without having to run off to save the day.

“Thanks God for GTA and Theon fucking Greyjoy.”

Robb took the sharpest turn in the history of turns, drove over old Mrs. Greene’s lawn, scaring the poor old lady senseless, and crashed into the neighbor's fence. Myrcella hadn’t seen it coming and by the time she realized what was happening, wood was already flying everywhere.

“Fuck my life,” she said, and closed her eyes and ducked in her seat. She felt the car spin around twice and then they were speeding towards the cemetery again (or so she hoped).

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Robb said, “leave me the fuck alone, Jesus. Oh, oh, yes, right over there little bitches. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and… I hope you like… Yes, I’m gonna take this and yes, right and now left and we’re out. All right, Cella, you can look now. I’ve left them behind. Now tell me if you see my sister.”

The screeching noise of the tires against the asphalt was silenced by the screams and roars of the zombies somewhere.

“To the church, idiot. She’s on the roof, remember? C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

There were about thirty of those monsters, if she had to guess from the distance they were at, and they were getting closer and closer by the second.

“I’ve got an old Tommy in the back of the trunk. I’ll run them over, you blow their heads off. Got it?”

“You sure know how to charm a girl darling.”

Myrcella didn’t give him time to answer, she kissed him on the cheek, leaving a pink lipstick mark on his skin, and climbed to the backseat of the car. All she had to do was go through the back window and she’d fall straight into the trunk. She opened the window and braced herself on the edges. First one leg, then the other as she balanced herself with her hands against the seats, and then she twisted her body to avoid getting stuck by the shoulders. Her whole body arched as her feet touched the floor and her knees searched for purchase. The car shook and she was propelled forwards. Once she was relatively safe and there was no risk of her losing her teeth, she climbed onto her feet.

“Do I look like Lara Croft or something? ‘Cause I’m pretty this wasn’t what I had in mind for our second date,” Myrcella called out as she grabbed Tommy gun.

 “Lara Croft doesn’t have anything on you babe. Time to do a Rambo. Shoot us the fuck out of here,” Robb shouted back.

The zombies were closing in on them, Robb ran over the first and hell broke loose. The zombies charged towards them and Cella fired the gun. The force of it made her loose her footing, but the movement of the car balanced her and she aimed again at the mass of zombies moving steadily closer to them.

“ARYA!” Robb shouted, but there was no response, only the groaning of the zombies.

Myrcella’s phone rang as she was running out of ammunition. She kicked a sack to the ground with her boot and the contents spilled around with the ammunition she needed, as she searched for her phone.

“I got it!” yelled Robb. “It’s Arya,” he told her as she fumbled with the gun. “Brace yourself, Myrcella!”

She had enough time to grab hold of the window frame and then Robb was turning away from the church and driving away.

“Robb, Arya!”

“She’s over there on a statue. We’ll go get her. Now keep shooting!”

As much as she tried, the zombies didn’t die. It was hard to aim at their heads while the car was constantly moving and all they did was try to climb onto the car.

Suddenly, she slipped. It seemed like Robb had lost control of the car, and she fell backwards and rolled on the floor of the trunk. Then the whole thing shook and bounced and a warm body rolled against her.

“Shit!” Arya said.

“Shut up, stupid,” Myrcella groaned.

“All right, you two, you’ll bicker later. Think of the zombies, now!” Robb yelled.

Arya was the first one up and she was shooting before Myrcella had had time to sit up and reach for her gun.

“Cella,” Robb shouted, “Tommen is calling!”

“Well, get it!”

Arya helped her up and, back to back, they faced the zombies.

“All right girls, we’re bringing them towards the road again. Get back inside.”

“You go first, Stark,” Myrcella said, with her finger still on the trigger. Arya climbed through the window in the same way Myrcella had done earlier and as she was twisting around to get inside, Myrcella smirked, rested her hand on Arya’s head and pushed her inside, making her loose the little balance she had and fall. She followed Arya back inside, shut the back window and opened the ones on either side of them. It was harder to shoot from here, but safer.

“I should’ve been the one to make out with Marion Cotillard, not Johnny Depp.”

“What did you just say, Myrcella?”

“Nothing, just keep shooting.”

“Fuck,” Robb swore, drawing their attention. “Our friends have found us, Princess.”

The cops were driving right towards them at full speed.

“Have you got binoculars?”

Robb threw them at her, but his aim wasn’t that great, what with now avoiding both the zombies and the police. Arya caught them before they could hit her head and handed them to her with a smug smile. She had no right to be smug, her deing the reason they were in this mess. Myrcella snatched them, looking through them to see their pursuers.

 She recognized the policemen. It was her Uncle Jaime and Dayne. Which meant… Before she could finish that thought her phone rang from the front seat. Robb wordlessly tossed it to her as she passed the binoculars to Arya.

“Please tell me you’re with Uncle Jaime,” she said, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she lined up another shot.

“I am. Can you see us?”

“Of course.”

“We’re going to blow up the church. Aunt Selyse will have a heart attack.”

“That’s so unfair, you always get to do the fun stuff. Stop the car, Robb, there’s no need to run anymore.”

“Goodbye Cella.” Tommen said just as officer Dayne, Uncle Jaime and Tommen himself passed beside them and waved with big, fat smiles.

Robb slammed the brakes and turned his head to look, but the car was gone inside the cemetery.

“Well, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Arya said, nodding at her brother.

Myrcella stayed quiet, waiting. She didn’t have to wait for long, the explosion came fast and loud and suddenly she breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re getting me a dragon for Christmas, you idiot,” she said without looking at Arya.

* * *

Shireen picked her up on Monday morning and Myrcella realised she was wearing the new jacket she had bought on Saturday and a blue headband that made her eyes stand out.

“You should ask your parents to get you a car, this way Sweetrobin wouldn’t have to pick up Tommen and I wouldn’t have to pick _you_ up.”

“I think they’re afraid I’ll run someone over because I was too busy checking my lipstick.”

“Checking someone’s butt, more likely.”

“Well, that’s just really mean, Shireen. And anyway I have a boyfriend now. That’s the only butt I will be checking out.”

“Sure…”

“Have you seen his butt? It’s a nice butt. It’s a top quality booty.”

Shireen still looked sceptical.

“Fine,” Myrcella sighed, rolling her eyes. “I will check out less butts. Happy? And the butts I do check out will pale in comparison to my boyfriend’s butt because that boy has a beautiful backside. I could write poetry about it, it’s so amazing.”

“Does the Stark Boy know his girlfriend is a crazy person?” Shireen asked, laughing.

“Robb is not the Stark you should be worrying about,” Myrcella grumbled. “He’s not the one who blew the fucking horn.”

“You’re never gonna let her live this down, are you?”

“Oh, I will, once she gets me a dragon for Christmas.”

Shireen laughed and asked her how her date had gone (you know, before it had been ruined by the hoard of zombies). Myrcella took that as a cue to continue to rhapsodize about Robb’s butt, which then lead her to talk about his smile and his eyes and his butt again. By the time they got to school, Arya was waiting for them and with fifteen minutes to spare before they had to go to homeroom, and Shireen knew _way_ too much about the butt of someone she was not dating.  

The three of them loitered by their lockers as Arya ate the breakfast she hadn’t had time to eat at home.  Once she was done, Arya took Myrcella’s arm and smiled, “Mom wants you to come for dinner on Wednesday. To officially meet you as Robb’s girlfriend. Think you’re ready?”

“That’s all right; my mother wants Robb to come to the family’s barbecue on Sunday. Says she’ll  _love_ having him over, and that Papa is just dying to talk  _business_ with him.”

“All right, you win; Robb will be dead by the end of the week. Rickon will be happy, he wants to move to his room.”

Myrcella’s laughter was not enough to silence the ring of the bell that signaled class was about to start.


	3. Epilogue: The Parents

**Or**

**“I’d Rather Take The Witch, The Zombies And Perhaps Even A Dragon, Thanks”**

Myrcella Baratheon had never felt more sorry than the minute her Mama had looked at her official boyfriend, Robb Stark, had scrunched her nose and had said, “Baby, he takes after his father,” as if it were an insult.

Robb looked at Cersei confused by those words, but Uncle Jaime laughed and her Papa winked at him. “He’s got the same stern look, doesn’t he?” asked Uncle Jaime. “At first look he’s all Tully, but the mouth, that’s all Stark.”

“You know a thing or two about Tullys, don’t you, Kingslayer?” asked Papa; “And about their mouths, too —both sweet, little Lysa and then Edmure. What about you, boy?”

“Pardon me?” Robb choked out once he figured out what, or rather whom Robert had been talking about.

“What do you know about mouths?”

“Oh, well… I… I mean…”

“Quit it, Papa. If I tell Uncle Stannis and Uncle Renly that you’re being difficult you’ll be in a world of trouble, you know that. Be nice to my boyfriend. You like his father, and if Mr. Stark finds out you’re torturing him, he’ll get mad. Come on, Robb, let’s go, uh, there, with Uncle Tyrion. He likes you, doesn’t he?”

Myrcella made a point of getting him out of there before anyone say anything else.

“Be sure to be around before the food is served,” came Uncle Jaime’s reply from afar. “Renly and Loras want to announce something. I’m sure they think no one’s noticed the golden ring on Tyrell’s finger.”

Myrcella rolled her eyes at him for spoiling the surprise for her, but didn’t say anything. They grabbed a seat by the pool’s side, far enough from the barbecue party to be considered private but close enough that her mother wouldn’t scold her for being impolite.

“Shouldn’t we be socializing?”

“We’ll get to that in a moment. You all right? I know that was horrible.”

“A little bit. Why did your mother…”

“I think she was hoping you’d be a little bit more like, I don’t know, Sansa, I guess —more Tully, less Stark. Or like Trys or Ned Dayne, no Stark at all.”

“She doesn’t like my father?”

“It’s not that. She’s just not fond of Mr. Stark’s sternness and well… You know when my father had Gendry, mom didn’t want him to come live here in Westwood, right? And Papa thought it would be best if he was raised by, say, Uncle Stannis or Grandfather Tywin because of mom. And you know Mr. Stark was the one who told Papa that Gendry couldn’t stay in Minnesota, that he needed to have the child nearby because he was his son and he had to take care of him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“My mother had almost convinced Papa that leaving the child behind would be the best for their marriage when your father spoke with mine and convinced him otherwise. Mom never forgave yours, nor mine —she likes Mr. Stark, respects him, but she resents him. That’s why she’s not too fond of you.”

“Well, damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom’s scary.”

“I know.”

“And by the way, I forgot to tell you; did you know Gendry was so mad at Arya and like, yelled at her so much, that she even cried?”

“What?”

“Yes; but once she started crying he panicked and, like, started apologising and hugging her and telling her all kind of silly things, like that he was sorry for not going to help her even though Tommen was in such a hurry to get there he forgot to call him like you told him to.”

“That’s really cute.”

“Yeah, the bastard is trying to bone my baby sister and you think it’s cute.”

“Your sister and I are the same age. And Gendry is a year younger than you. Think about it, Robb. Now, time’s over, we have to go socialize.”

“Uh, please, don’t make me.”

“Scared?”

“Senseless.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“I’d rather take Melisandre the bitch or the zombies, thanks. Even a frickin’ giant lizard would be better.”

(Scratch that —Myrcella Baratheon had never felt more sorry than ten minutes after those words from Robb Stark. She had felt sorry for her mother’s carefully planned barbecue and for Tommen’s magical carnations and for Uncle Renly’s announcement even though they all could guess what it was and for, well for herself. Myrcella Baratheon had never felt more sorry than ten minutes after those words from Robb Stark because that’s when the dragon came.)


End file.
